


There And Back Again: A Mental State By Pretty Much Everyone BUT Bilbo Baggins...

by MadasaMoriarty



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adrenaline Junkie, Anorexia, Because I love him best, Delusions, Doctor Gandalf, Eating Disorders, F/M, Fili is also the most insane, Gambling Addiction, I think that's what it's called, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kleptomania, Kleptomaniac Bilbo, M/M, Mental Hospital AU, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, OCD, POV Alternating, Paranoia, Pico - Freeform, Schizophrenia, Thorin is the most insane, We'll See What Else Pops Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3801799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadasaMoriarty/pseuds/MadasaMoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re in Ward D.” It isn’t said with any sort of inflection, the smile is gone as Bard leads him past a quartet of numbered rooms and towards a set of stairs. “Each dormitory has four floors and sixteen rooms. One for each patient, one for the on call doctor, and one for the nightly orderlies. This Ward is almost full. So you’ll be on the top floor.” </p>
<p>“Oh, good. That’s…” He stops only a few steps up and turns a longing gaze on the ground floor rooms, only then noticing the little stenciled names a few inches below the numbers. </p>
<p>Balin, Dwalin, Oin, Gloin. He darts after Bard and through the second story, still reading. Ori, Nori, Dori, Fili. Another flight of stairs, he’s starting to puff noticeably, perhaps he can get his prominent uncle Thain to send them a letter regarding elevators. Kili, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur. Just one more, he’s wheezing slightly by the time he reaches the top, Bard waiting patiently by an open door. He scans the last few doors as he walks through his own. Two don’t have names on them, only the numbers, but the last not only has a name, but a silhouette in the window as well. Thorin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There And Back Again: A Mental State By Pretty Much Everyone BUT Bilbo Baggins...

Middle Earth Psychiatric Care Center sat at the edge of town, just across the street from Erebor Manufacturing, some sort of all purpose business that did everything from upholstery to carpentry. Bilbo had even ordered a set of silver spoons from there once. He wished he was going there now, instead of making his way up to the large white almost colonial building in front of him. But he promised his family that he’d try. For the sake of his unborn nephew. So this was him… trying. He fiddled anxiously with his buttons as he approached the door, wondering if he should knock or just… walk in. The choice was made for him when a tall blonde exited the building, pausing to hold the door and giving Bilbo a wan smile as he passed. And then Bilbo was in the Middle Earth Psychiatric Care Center, and he had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon.

\--

It didn’t seem such a horrid place really, the ground floor at least was bright and spacious, even if it did smell vaguely of antiseptic beneath the cloying reek of some sort of scented candle, pumpkin, he thought but you could never be sure. Whatever it was it was unbearably sweet. There were sofas, and magazine covered coffee tables dotted around nearly floor length windows, and you could see the rolling green of the grounds stretching away, framed by frail looking trees. There also didn’t seem to be many patients milling about, he saw a few of what he assumed to be orderlies making their way through the hallways, and there was one depressingly scrawny man in a wheelchair in the center of the room, lips moving soundlessly as he worried a ring around his finger.

He dithered next to the door for a moment, wondering how these things were meant to go, and thinking that perhaps he should have brought one of his cousins for support. He had just decided that he was going to have to come back sometime when Primula could come with him, when a tall, if slightly stooped, man with a long grey beard and eyebrows like a pair of angry caterpillars appeared in front of him, leaning slightly on a walking stick.

“Can I help you my dear fellow?” He had a deep, artfully aged voice, watching Bilbo with deceptively lively eyes.

“Ah, no. Well, perhaps… you see.” he cleared his throat carefully, taking stock of his twisting fingers. “You see I need too…. that is. I’m here for…” he trailed off with a grimace and made himself nod at the pathetic creature in the wheelchair. The older man followed the motion, furry brows pinching together.

“Ah, you’re here to visit Smeagol?” He gave a pleased smile, that made his beard seem to puff up like a bird.

“Um- no. No.” He frowned, giving the occupied wheelchair another worried look. “I’m here….” To become Smeagol. “To-o-o, sign up.” he hummed decisively, giving his head a jerky nod.

“Ahh,” The man’s smile split his beard and his eyes crinkled kindly. “Bilbo Baggins. Hm, yes, we’ve been expecting you for some time now.” Bilbo did his best not to allow that to seem ominous. “Come, I’ll give you a tour.”

“I’m sorry. How- how do you know my name?” He had to jog to keep up with the man’s deceptively long stride.

“Hmm? Oh, your family called in advance. They seemed to think you would be in earlier this week. But I imagine they merely failed to consider the preparations that such a change in living quarters would entail. You however, seem a very sensible fellow, I’m sure you’ve brought everything you need. Now. To business.” He removed a garish, plastic pipe from one pocket and a bottle of bubble solution from the other and proceeded to fill it, setting it to his lips and filling the hall with opalescent soap spheres. “The lobby, through which you entered is for family visits and patient socialization, not to mention a very good place to set in the sun and read; if you don’t mind a little chatter.” Another puff of bubbles. One popped against his nose. “The public restrooms are through there.” He gestured to a swinging door. “There is of course personal bathrooms in most rooms. There are a few patients who are safer without.” He gave Bilbo a careful look, as if he might start inviting random patients into his bathroom. Provided he had one. And he sincerely hoped he did. “This.” He pushed through a set of double doors, catching one before it could bash Bilbo in the head. “Is the cafeteria. Patients take all their meals here, snacks are taken outside or in one of the recreation rooms further down the hall.” He pointed. “Orderlies are present in all the common areas at all times.” He returned to the hallway. “The center has four dormitories, one on each corner of the house. You will be housed in the same dormitory as your therapy group. Whom you will meet later.” He led him back to the lobby, puffing bubbles the whole way. “Ah. Medication is giving at the front desk at the appropriate times.Your family has already submitted your information via telephone. Any questions?”

“Ahh...one or two.” He watched a bubble float to the floor to leave a ring on the hardwood.

“Certainly.” The pipe received an especially hefty puff.

“Well...yes. Hm.” He cleared his throat nervously, gathering his manners, but- “Nope. I’m sorry. No. I can’t- Why are you blowing bubbles?” He waved his hands wildly, scattering the soapy air pockets across the lobby. The caterpillars jumped up the man’s forehead.

“Ah. My apologies Bilbo, perhaps I might of explained. The bubbles purpose is twofold. It cheers a number of the patients and keeps my tobacco consumption at manageable levels.” Another smile, this one slightly self deprecating if Bilbo was reading it right. Perhaps a bit smug if he wasn’t. “I’m afraid without it I might have lost a lung many years ago. Terrible business.”

“I beg your pardon, I didn’t- very terrible. I apologize I didn’t mean to-”

The elderly man waved a dismissive hand and gave a last blow on his pipe before removing a rag to dry the bowl.

“Think nothing of it my dear boy. I suppose it does seem a rather strange habit without explanation. You’re certainly not the first to ask after it, nor the last in all probability. Is there anything else you needed Bilbo my lad?”

“Erm...yes. And I hope you don’t think me rude, but I still haven’t the foggiest idea who you are.”

“Ah yes, of course, I am Gandalf Grey. Doctor Gandalf Grey if you would like to know my full title. But I think just, Gandalf, will work between us don’t you?” He winked as if this was all a delightful conspiracy, and Bilbo spent an honest moment wondering if perhaps Doctor Gandalf wasn’t one of the patients playing at dress up. But all the orderlies had given him only respectful nods, even if a few seemed amused by the bubbles, and Bilbo was of the mind that any self respecting establishment wouldn’t let a patient lead a guest around whilst wearing a doctor’s coat. Not without saying something to the guest at least. So Bilbo merely nodded and held out a hand, with a mumbled how do you do. “Now, if that is all your questions I’m afraid I must be going, I have important business to attend.” He turned and called to one of the few passing orderlies and Bilbo took the opportunity to dart his fingers out and snatch one of the pens off the front desk and slip it up his sleeve. Some of the tension leaked out of him immediately and he was able to give ‘Gandalf’ and his summoned nurse, a tall slightly threatening seeming man, the beginnings of a genuine smile. “Bilbo Baggins, this is Bard Dale, he will show you to your room. Ward D I should think Bard. And after you can come down and meet your group. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He turned away humming to himself and Bilbo focused his attention on Bard.

“Mr. Baggins.” Bard nods in greeting and gestures him towards one of the hallways.

“Bilbo will do.” He has to trot to keep up with Bard as well and Bilbo finds himself wondering if there are any reasonably sized people in this establishment. “And what do I call you?”

“Bard will do.” The man parrots with a tiny smile as he pushes open one of the doors Gandalf didn’t mention on his tour. “You’re in Ward D.” It isn’t said with any sort of inflection, the smile is gone as Bard leads him past a quartet of numbered rooms and towards a set of stairs. “Each dormitory has four floors and sixteen rooms. One for each patient, one for the on call doctor, and one for the nightly orderlies. This Ward is almost full. So you’ll be on the top floor.”

“Oh, good. That’s…” He stops only a few steps up and turns a longing gaze on the ground floor rooms, only then noticing the little stenciled names a few inches below the numbers.

Balin, Dwalin, Oin, Gloin. He darts after Bard and through the second story, still reading. Ori, Nori, Dori, Fili. Another flight of stairs, he’s starting to puff noticeably, perhaps he can get his prominent uncle Thain to send them a letter regarding elevators. Kili, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur. Just one more, he’s wheezing slightly by the time he reaches the top, Bard waiting patiently by an open door. He scans the last few doors as he walks through his own. Two don’t have names on them, only the numbers, but the last not only has a name, but a silhouette in the window as well. Thorin.

\--

****  
  


Bilbo took his time setting up his room. He’d brought his own sheets and blankets because you never knew who had used the bed last and it never hurt to be careful. Not to mention the threadcount was abysmal. Considering the dent this place was putting in his inheritance you’d think they could afford better bedding. It didn’t matter. Bilbo changed the blankets and inspected the curtains and the bathroom, which was small but serviceable. He unpacked his clothes and his knickknacks setting them comfortably about the furniture and organizing the chest of drawers to his satisfaction. The newly pilfered pen was placed in a box of similarly obtained trinkets and stashed under the bed. He was just sorting through his emergency supply of homemade goodies when there was a knock at the door.

A glance at the clock showed that he had spent rather longer than he’d intended settling in and he’d probably missed dinner. His stomach bemoaned the loss but he comforted himself with the thought of a few slices of Prim’s cheese loaves, carefully laid next to his socks and went to open the door. He had to strangle a yelp when he saw the man waiting for him in the hallway. Not quite as tall as Gandalf or Bard he loomed over Bilbo, his face set into a stony scowl, overlaid by a wild grey beard, his bald head waxy in the florescent light.

“Dwalin. At your service.” His voice was like crushed rocks and Bilbo is not ashamed to admit that he trembled at the sound.

“Bilbo Baggins...at yours.”

Dwalin pushed past him with a grunt, walking the perimeter of the room and looking behind the furniture, bursting into the bathroom like a cop on television. He then proceeded to rifle through all of Bilbo’s personal belongings.

“Oh- no, excuse me!” Bilbo took a timid step forward, his alarm rising as the man nosed through his tin of ginger biscuits. Apparently deciding it was acceptable behavior to stuff two into his mouth and chew like a goat. Honestly, crumbs everywhere. “If you could just put those-” A knock cut him off.

Bilbo looked between Dwalin and the door, wondering if he dared to leave the man unattended. Dwalin looked between Bilbo and the door, his eyes flinty with suspicion.

“That’ll be the door.”

With a last longing look at his disappearing biscuits Bilbo went to answer it. The man on the other side was much more approachable than Dwalin with a beard that reminded him of Santa Claus and eyes to match, he beamed at Bilbo like he was a favorite grandchild and not a perfect stranger.

“Balin. At your service.”

“Good evening.”  It was poor manners to be sure but Dwalin had flummoxed him badly and he was still mourning his sweets.

“Yes it is.” Balin agreed brightly. “Though I think it may rain later.” He winked much the same as Gandalf had earlier and brushed into the room to greet Dwalin and poke through Bilbo’s makeshift pantry. Bilbo had just closed the door, and was bemoaning the lack of a lock, when twin raps sounded off the wood. Summoning his patience and what good humor could be salvaged from the day, he answered it again. And was nearly blinded by the twin grins waiting on the other side. For one wild moment he thought they must be brothers, but a closer look revealed there was really no family resemblance. The one on the left was tan skinned and fair haired, with a strong nose and pale blue eyes the color of forget-me-nots, while the one on the right had dark wild hair, pale skin, and eyes like liquid chocolate that crinkled with mirth.

“Fili.” The fair one began.

“And Kili.” The dark one continued.

“At your service.” They bowed in tandem, springing up again like jack-in-the-boxes.

“You must be Mister Boggins!” Kili enthused, not allowing Bilbo a chance to get a word in edgewise. They both took a step forward. Bilbo’s heart skipped as he thought of his rapidly diminishing food supply and he attempted to slam the door.

“No, no you can’t come in.”

“What?” The worry on their faces was immediately disheartening. “Has it been canceled?”

“No one told us.” They held the door open easily, and Bilbo almost sighed in resignation, but his mother was a Took so he couldn’t just give in could he?

“No, nothings been cancelled!” Though he really would have liked to know how it could be. And what it was.

“That’s a relief.” They barged past him with less care than Dwalin. Bilbo almost wished he’d kept his shoes on. “It’s nice this place. Did you do it yourself?”

“Wha-” He really wasn’t sure of the answer to that. “I-” Of course he stopped worrying about it when Kili began scraping his boots on his suitcase. “Excuse me! That’s my mother’s calf-skin trolley, could you please not do that!”  Surely they had doormats downstairs?

“Careful of the pockets.” A pair of coats was unceremoniously tossed into his arms. Bilbo nearly buckled under the unexpected weight. “Mind you don’t break anything.”

Bilbo is left to gape as the newest pair join the others and begin rearranging his furniture. He almost doesn’t hear the next desperate pounding at the door over mingled shouts and the screech of his bed being dragged across the floor. He stomps back to the door, yanking it open with all his might, preparing a truly frustrated rant that quickly morphs into a very undignified noise when a crowd of people falls through his door. Bilbo utilizes the extended moment of confusion to snatch a necklace from one of the squirming bodies and shoving it down his shirt. It doesn’t help as much as he would have liked. Still, it does give him a moment of spiteful glee. It doesn’t last and then he feels slightly guilty. He shakes the locket out of his shirt and glares as everybody finally sort themselves out.

“Oin.”

“Gloin”

“Dori”

“Nori”

“Ori”

“Bifur.”  
  


“Bofur.”

“Bombur.”

“At your serv-”

“Is that food?” The immensely rotund one, Bombur, trundles past like a freight train, leaving the rest in chortling laughter.

Bilbo spent the next… however long, running about like a chicken with it’s head cut off. First he had to stop Kili from juggling his porcelain figurines, then Fili was walking across the top of all the rearranged furniture (In his shoes no less!) talking with someone Bilbo couldn’t see about some of the finer points between beer and ale, next he was trying to stop Bombur from consuming every last one of Prim’s cheese loaves, to roarous laughter from Bifur and Bombur, his (empty) biscuit tin got crushed under Dwalin’s hefty boot, Dori was wandering around ‘straightening’ things (They certainly got straighter even if they got moved in the process.) and Gloin was booming into his ear the whole time about his dear cherub son he couldn’t wait to get home too while Oin kept screaming ‘what’ at every pause for breath. And Bilbo ran about between them trying not to scream in frustration.

“Excuse me.” He snatched a now stained doily from Nori, he was almost positive it was Nori, tossing it at a side table, where Dori proceeded to fuss with it. “That is a doily, not a handkerchief”

“But it’s full of holes?” Bofur was listing slightly to the side, leaning on Bifur.

“It’s supposed to be like that, it’s crochet.” He did his best not to snap.

“And a lovely game it is too, if you’ve got the balls for it.” The pair burst into another round of guffaws. Bilbo felt like yanking his hair out.

“Bebother and confusticate this lot!”

Balin chuckled and slapped at his back.

“They’re just excited laddie, it’s been a long time since we’ve had anyone new come into ward D. They’ll settle down.” He shuffled away to poke through the remains of Bilbo’s food supply.

“Mr. Boggins watch! I can do a flip!” The dark haired youth was jumping dangerously close to the edge of the bed.

“Oh, no, Kili don’t-”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Everyone in the room froze. Dwalin, Bifur and Balin stood straighter. Bofur tucked his painted water bottle down his pants. Dori fussed at Ori’s collection of scarves and Nori stopped his crazed muttering. Oin and Gloin fell silent. Bombur stopped chewing and Fili and Kili took up positions behind Bilbo, nudging him forward. He felt his anxiety ratchet up, again, and approached the door like one would a wild lion. The door swung open and Bilbo felt his heart stutter.

The man on his door jam wasn’t as intimidating as Dwalin, though he was almost as tall. His face had a permanent scowl that had already etched lines into his forehead, and dark hair covered his head, the only bit of light in his whole countenance was his icy blue eyes, that seemed to dig into Bilbo’s soul and take note of all his failings. Apparently standing at the door was one of them. He moved aside hurriedly, even while he berated himself for doing so. He had quite enough people in his room already.

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

The man, who was probably Thorin; since every other name in ward D was accounted for, nodded magnanimously, stepping into the room like a king stepping into his castle.

“So…” His voice was like dark velvet, or maybe a summer storm, deep and warm and dangerous. “This is the thief.”

His face flushed, eyes darting to the small shoe box he’d stashed under the bed. He strained himself up to his full height attempting to look dignified, though he probably only managed a low level of respectability. His neighbors always said he was a trifle odd.

“He looks more like a grocer then a burglar.” Now that was just uncalled for.

“Excuse me-”

“Tell me burglar have you done much fighting?” Rude, ill-mannered- “Sword or axe, which is your weapon of choice?”

“Wha…” Sword? Axe? Was this some sort of… costume… fantasy...thing. Did they expect him to dress up like a wizard and play at Dungeons and Dragons? “Well, I’ve a fair hand at conkers, if you must know, but I really don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“It’s as I thought. He won’t last one day in the wilds.”

Wilds? What? The Center was a good fifteen minutes from any residential areas, certainly, but it was hardly the middle of nowhere. There was a Wal-Mart down the street for mercy’s sake! The people, patients, around him were murmuring in agreement, heads bobbing while they looked at him less kindly than they had before. Dwalin looked smug. Balin jumped to his defense, though Bilbo wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or concerned by the apparent mass delusion he had somehow become involved in,

“If Gandalf says he is the right person than I think we must at least give him a chance. There is no telling the logic of a wizard but he has done well by you so far, there is no reason he would fail now.”

Bilbo found he could only gape. Everybody else was waiting with baited breath. Thorin glared. Bilbo spluttered. Eventually the larger man gave a faint scoff of derision and pushed into the room to steal one of the biscuits Dwalin was hoarding in his pockets. Bilbo took the opportunity to round on Balin, chest puffed with indignation.

“I don’t know what sort of- of game, you lot are playing but I will have you know it is in very poor taste.”

The old loon merely chuckled, patting at the irate man in consolation.

**  
“** No game laddie. In Thorin’s mind we are all of us on a great quest, to trek through far wildernesses, fight hordes of foes and face a dragon. The lads and I humor him… because it’s a great deal more entertaining than just being another band of lunatics locked away from our families. And it gives us something to do with our day beside shuffle through the halls and try to guess the ingredients of Thursdays meatloaf.” With a last kindly smile Balin left him to join the others and Bilbo spent the rest of the evening holed into a corner of his own room nibbling at the last slice of Prim’s cheese bread and bemoaning his general lack of good fortune. Until Gandalf showed up and sent everyone to their own rooms for the night, promising that there would be more time for mingling tomorrow, and giving Bilbo half of a tuna fish sandwich to make up for his skipped meal. Bilbo felt a fair bit more kindly towards the old doctor after he’d eaten it. His mood was through the floor, his supply of home cooked food was… decimated, his bed was crooked, someone had left boot prints in his pillows and his knick knacks were scrambled all over like the aftermath of a small hurricane. But at least his stomach had been assuaged.

**Author's Note:**

> I Don't Know What I'm Doing!!! But I would love to hear what you guys think I should do. The plot is rudimentary at the moment so anyone who wants to contribute or be my beta and keep me on the straight and narrow need only apply! In the mean time I would love some reviews!


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